


Fever

by FidotheFinch



Series: Tumblr Prompts [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Dick is a good big brother, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Sick Fic, but not graphic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-11
Updated: 2019-08-11
Packaged: 2020-08-19 11:14:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20208823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FidotheFinch/pseuds/FidotheFinch
Summary: Dick watched as Damian methodically mixed just enough of the chickpea curry on his plate with the rice to make it look eaten. After a minute of watching, Damian apparently unaware as he picked at his food, he decided the kid had a bit of pallor to him, as well.





	Fever

**Author's Note:**

> For a tumblr prompt: Dick and Damian; "You're burning up"

Maybe Damian thought he was being subtle.

His back was ramrod straight, his nose upturned with a familiar childlike snobbishness. Not one word was out of place, not one movement inefficient. Dick heard him get up before the crack of dawn and descend to the Cave for a workout.

And, five months ago, it wouldn’t have caught his attention. It was perfectly normal behavior, for this kid, at least.

But it hadn’t been that way for a while now.

Dick watched as Damian methodically mixed _just enough _of the chickpea curry on his plate with the rice to make it look eaten. After a minute of watching, Damian apparently unaware as he picked at his food, he decided the kid had a bit of pallor to him, as well.

Careful to control the amount of worry in his voice, he asked, “Hey, Damian—”

The boy looked like a deer caught in the headlights.

“Dick, you’ve gotta help me here.”

Dick’s mouth snapped shut, deciding Damian’s reaction was enough to warrant this a private conversation.

Instead, he shifted his attention to Jason. “What?”

Jason pointed his fork accusingly at Bruce. “Explain to him that microwave popcorn is better than air-popped popcorn.”

Dick searched the faces of the rest of the present family. Cass gave him a small grin, and Tim pointedly took another bite of his own food, settling down for the inevitable blowup.

Bruce just looked disgusted. “Have you _seen_ the ingredients list on that crap? It’s not food!”

“It’s delicious!”

“It’s a heart attack in a bag!”

“I’d rather die (again) happy than eating your stale unsalted corn puffs!”

Tim snorted. “He’s got you there.”

Bruce frowned. “It’s not that bad.” He pointed to Dick, and all eyes followed that finger down the table. “Dick likes my popcorn.”

Dick sheepishly raised a hand in offering. “Bruce, it’s time I told you something.”

“HA!” Jason yelled, pumping a triumphant fist in the air. “Told you!”

In the chaos that followed—Dick never having to actually explain why Ace had been teetering on the edge of overweight for years—Damian pushed his chair back and quietly excused himself. After a minute, Dick followed.

He found the kid in his room, lying on the bed and staring blankly at the ceiling. Dick knocked on the doorframe.

“Tt. Enter.”

Dick rolled his eyes at the brusque invitation. Without needing to be asked, he shut the door behind him. “What’s up, kiddo?”

It was evidently the wrong thing to say, because Damian’s face lost another shade of color. “Nothing.”

Dick sat on the bed next to him, careful not to bounce too harshly. He studied the boy, the day’s behavior running through his head on loop. It was like he had regressed, losing the shreds of informality that let _Damian _peek through. “Are you sure?”

Damian stiffened. “I am _fine_.” As if to prove his point, he sat up—slowly, Dick noted—and rest his back against his headboard so he was sitting parallel to Dick.

Dick smiled without humor. “You know you can tell me if you’re not.”

Damian looked away, toward his bedroom window. There was a maple tree outside, its scarlet leaves gently fluttering in the autumn breeze. Dick had heard Damian, on more than one occasion, mutter about paint while his eyes wandered the light-dappled branches. But there was none of that awe in his gaze now; his eyes were glassy like he wasn’t seeing anything at all.

An uneasy feeling seeded in his gut. “Damian?”

The boy’s hands fisted in his sheets. “I feel. . . unwell.”

Dick let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. Physical illness was something he could deal with. Something he could potentially _fix. _“Like a cold? Do you think you’re going to throw up?”

Damian shook his head tightly, eyes flitting to his bathroom and back. “I already did.”

Dick immediately leaned in, resting the inside of his wrist on Damian’s forehead. He sucked in a breath through his teeth. “You’re burning up.”

Damian leaned into his hand. “I don’t feel like it.”

“Yeah, I bet you don’t.” Dick drew himself in to climb off the bed. “I’ll get Bruce and Alfred to—”

Damian’s voice was small. “Please don’t tell him.”

That drew Dick to a pause. He took in the boy’s wide eyes, the white-knuckle grip in the sheets. And it dawned on him.

He sat back on the bed, fully facing Damian this time. “Why didn’t you tell anyone?”

Damian wouldn’t meet his eyes. He didn’t speak, but Dick already knew the answer.

“I wasn’t kidding, earlier. You can tell me, _any of us_, anything.” He ran a hand through Damian’s hair, and noted that there was a light tremor running through his body. Definitely a fever, at least. “We won’t think less of you for needing help. Or a break.”

Damian blinked hard. “But—”

“Nope,” Dick said, popping the ‘p.’ “Everyone gets sick sometimes.”

“I’m not supposed to—”

“Even Robins.” Then, thinking back on the kind of exposure to stress and contaminants they faced on the regular, he amended, “_Especially_ Robins. It’s actually a miracle our immune systems work at all, anymore.”

Damian still didn’t look like he believed him, but this was not the kind of brainwashing one could break with a few words. So Dick gently pressed his shoulders down. “Lie down, and get comfy. I’ll ask Alfred to bring up some medicine and broth. And we can watch some movies while you rest.”

Dick helped him shimmy under the sheets without complaint, another testament to how sick Damian really was. Just when he had reached the door, he thought he heard Damian mutter something into his bedspread. “What was that?”

Damian turned pink. “Bring Titus?”

“Of course.” Dick smiled. “I’ll be right back. I can’t wait to see your face when you see _Air Bud_.”


End file.
